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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25828729">This is me trying</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wishopenastar/pseuds/Wishopenastar'>Wishopenastar</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, Modern Setting, Set in India, discussion of Islam, slight homophobia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:55:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,822</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25828729</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wishopenastar/pseuds/Wishopenastar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Knowing that Cain was called Qabil but his name was never mentioned in the Quran was a by-product of having a preacher/English teacher dad. And not knowing that brothers fought quite so much, was a by-product of having a mother who died in labour. Like a fucking eighteenth century heorine.<br/>"Do you want bandages? I have some in my room."<br/>"Nope. The injuries may gain me sympathy points with both my brothers and ma tomorrow."<br/>"Be like that."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Female Character/Original Female Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>This is me trying</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinystreetlamp/gifts">tinystreetlamp</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'm posting this for the #artmubarak in twt. Hopefully I remember to edit this tomorrow/soon.<br/>But for now, all mistakes are mine.<br/>Thanks to me beta and friend Lea (tinystreetlamp) who read over this and Aze who assured me it was good.</p><p>Before anyone comes at me, this is a work of fiction but it draws heavily from my own experiences as a queer indian girl. </p><p>Also one scene might be triggering with mild discussion of fatphobia so please check end notes.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Manara at seventeen knows her playlist by heart. Each song, their order, she had built it from the time she was fourteen and got her first phone. It's predictable and it's safe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her headphones threaten to fall off from her ears when the dupatta she brings up jostles them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Manara's not always hijabi, and she's not ashamed of it, but she's not </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>ashamed. Hence the dupatta always having a presence around her. It's on her shoulders or on her head. For when it's there, it's an easy way to outwardly be calm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The terrace is colder than the thermometer says it's supposed to be. But the dupatta covers her neck and the sweater is adequate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her neighbour, her friend, her—Aasha's always up at this time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Midnight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But unlike Manara, she's not up because she can't bear the quiet of the night. Her house is too much. Too noisy and too many people. There are midnight TV specials or serials which run around this time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If overpopulation can be thanked for one thing, then it's the way their homes are cramped together. It's easy to step from one terrace to another if you hold in your breath and don't look down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Manara always makes that move, if only because walking on Aasha's terrace is easier without disturbing others.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aasha is not up yet. Manara crosses anyways, her dad would have an aneurysm and shout at her about "the invention of the door for rational people" she leans against the parapet. Waiting. Faint shouts can be heard from the floor below. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Three songs play before the terrace door opens and Aasha comes out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry. Vishwa and Aadi fought, ma was busy with dadi so I had to break them up," Aasha's voice is low, one of her hands wraps around her wrist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Show me?" Manara asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's not much, just, nails," she says, holding out her wrist as if nails can not cause infections. Especially teenage boy nails. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you sure you don't want me to give your brothers a talking?" All three of Aasha's brothers are terrified of Manara. Maybe it's because her father is their teacher. Maybe it's because two of them nurse a crush on her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Eh no. They're brothers, they fight." Aasha always finds it ridiculous how confused Manara is about siblings. All Manara understood was that the first murder was committed by Qabil. And that it was a fratricide. Knowing that Cain was called Qabil but his name was never mentioned in the Quran was a by-product of having a preacher/English teacher dad. And not knowing that brothers fought</span>
  <em>
    <span> quite </span>
  </em>
  <span>so much, was a by-product of having a mother who died in labour. Like a fucking eighteenth century heroine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you want bandages? I have some in my room."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nope. The injuries may gain me sympathy points with both my brothers and ma tomorrow."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Be like that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>_______</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aasha never slept enough. Manara had once broached the subject, she'd been brushed off by her friend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had gone home and made a ppt for on her phone, it had taken a short hour to make, and every article she read said that not sleeping properly was </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad, </span>
  </em>
  <span>even linking it to obesity and diabetes. Aasha had laughed when she had seen that slide. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you calling me fat? My best friend is </span>
  <em>
    <span>Betraying</span>
  </em>
  <span> me?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aasha was obease, and Manara had felt like her inability to sleep at proper hours would actually be a factor in it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But something in her friend's joking tone caught her attention. Manara was known for being insensitive sometimes and she'd blanched when she realised how </span>
  <em>
    <span>insulting</span>
  </em>
  <span> it must sound to her friend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I fuck shit I'm sorry! I meant—that you, you could increase your insulin and up your anxiety…" she'd sputtered, "I'm sorry. I did not mean to imply—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Dude. It's cool. I know that you worry. Besides it's not like I don't have practice listening to this. I quite literally have an entire family which calls me moti."  Aasha said she was immune to dipshits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fucking hell. You don't have to take it from me just because they say it." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Manara, I'll really beat you up if you think you hurt me. I'm okay, all right? You didn't say anything wrong. You're concerned for me. Understood."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah. Sorry, I still should not have—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aasha had rolled her eyes at the apology and changed the topic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Later that night after Aasha had yawned four times in a minute, Manara had looked at her face, bathed in the light of her cracked phone screen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You know you're beautiful right?" She'd said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Too fucking beautiful for me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Obviously."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You should go to sleep."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mhm. You too."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>______</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Manara is most definitely not an early riser. Except Fridays when she gets up for fajr in the early morning rather than praying later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fridays are hence, her hair washing days. Aasha's a delinquent who washes her hair every other day and Manara is going to hell for sniffing her hair so much when they hug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or maybe she's going to hell for so many lustful thoughts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This Friday is  no different. Except in all the ways it'll be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's late at night and Aasha is in Manara's bedroom as she frantically sorts through the clothes she has. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I want to die," Manara says as she flops onto her bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh it's a highschool result ceremony. And it's in a day, you can find something to wear by then." Aasha comes and lies beside her, turning to face Manara.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's not just a ceremony. I'm tied to be first and Abbu is not telling me who actually is." Manara knows she's being overdramatic. But sometimes it's worth it to rile her friend up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you sure you're even tied?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I am! I compared answers with Krish Patel, and I'm like fifty percent sure I did better than him. That's why I need a good outfit. If I come first I need one that says humble ranker and if I come second I need something that says I'm still happy but—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Manara's interrupted by a hand on her mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You did well this year. You do each year. Krish Patel or not. I swear to your god that I won't let off my hand from your mouth if you don't shut up and stop worrying."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Manara heard about half the things Aasha said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had about three brain cells. One was the main functioning one which took care of needs and school. The other was the one which said dumb shit and the last one was dedicated to Aasha. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Currently two of them went to the hand on her mouth, in controlling her desire to lick it. And the third one was urging her to lick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She licks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She starts thinking of scenarios which could explain why exactly she did it. But she's only gotten to 3) because there was a hair I was trying to push away, when she realises an essential thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aasha hasn't recoiled her hand. It's still there, except loosened in shock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turns to properly look at her friend.  Aasha is staring at her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thing about Manara is that even with all of her cussing and joking, she is not actually a very open person. Definitely not the kind to lick her best friend's hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Definitely not that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh god. You licked me!" Aasha says, unsticking her face from the frozen shock into a grin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You were not letting me talk!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yuck. I hate tongues," Manara's brain is too fried trying to catalogue the non present taste in her tongue to follow along on the joke. Follow along on the easy out, typical of Aasha's brand of forgiveness and kindness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Tongues are an important part of civilization."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"They're not, not now."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're using your tongue to argue."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I could sign my argument," Aasha's the kind of person who'd learn sign language to prove a proven point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay but not all arguments can be won physically. Tongues helped develop and refine language and—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hand is back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Manara was in her back the last time. This time she had turned to her friend to argue futilely and make eye contact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm not Mrs. Shah, I won't grade you on your class debates."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hand lifts, only for a single finger to fall on her lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aasha's the one who threw plausible deniability out of the bus, Manara will remember.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The finger traces her still open mouth, stopping at her cupid's arch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You don't know enough about my tongue to grade me on it anyways." Manara wants to cut out her tongue for this joke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Argh! Shut up," Aasha mock spews out before bending down to press a kiss against Manara's cheek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Plausible deniability. Drain. Something or the other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"May I?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes. Yes."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aasha leans over her to peck Manara's lips. And it's enough to slay both of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aasha lets go and comes to rest on Manara. Manara breaths in her hair smell and feels the weight of her friend on her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>__</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It's only a few days in the new routine that the implications begin to settle in. Being muslim, okay. Queer? Okay. But a relationship is a whole different rodeo. For one thing, neither of their families know. And while it's a necessary secret, it pains on Manara to not tell her Abbu.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Beta are you eating properly? You can tell me if something stresses you out." He'd asked her that morning. And she had nodded. Abbu had not even explicitly banned her from dating when she'd come out as bi.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only had raised his eyebrows for a few seconds before hugging her. It had been about as surreally perfect as it could have been. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aasha hadn't told her family and apparently she did not intend to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The school being over meant that the days were longer than usual. And like each year, she saw Aasha much more. More than usual even.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almost every other night was movie night. With her in her </span>
  <em>
    <span>girlfriend's lap. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Her father had walked in on them at one point. As Aasha's hand was carding through her hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He'd looked at her for a long time, trying to fathom out something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Did you tell yours?" He asked Aasha.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A yes or know question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't know."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hmm. Come around to dinner sometime. I'll show you pictures of when she was a child." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well. That was that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Abbu had already shown all her baby pics to Aasha. Unless he intended to bring out the hits over the years and retell the stories.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>___</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Manara doesn't really know what's going to happen. They're good at what they're doing, the dating. But they are also good at the friendship. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hopes they weather together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To end with the cheesiest of couple jokes, as they say, Aasha brought Manara hope, just as she brought her light.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Manara means light in Arabic and Aasha means hope in Hindi. Aasha is a common name in india, manara not so much.</p><p>Re the fatphobia scene<br/>Manara talks with Aahaa about her messed up sleep schedule which can lead to weight fluctuating.<br/>Manara doesn't hurt Aasha, but it's discussed that a lot of Aasha's family calls her 'moti' which quite literally menas a fat woman.<br/>Manara apologizes and the scene closes soon. </p><p>Re: homophobia<br/>I've been lucky to be Islamic and queer and yet accepted by my family. I know it's not the case for everyone, but j wanted manara to have a loving dad.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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